


Clockwork Little Happiness

by duffmansean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Bottom Sam, Dark Dean Winchester, Deepthroating, Episode: s06e07 Family Matters, Face-Fucking, Gore, M/M, Multi, No Lube, Physical Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape, Sexual Abuse, Soulless Sam Winchester, Threesome - M/M/M, Torture, Violence, Virgin Castiel, Wincest - Freeform, Wincestiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duffmansean/pseuds/duffmansean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of the beginning of "Family Matters".  After finding out his little brother has no soul, Dean decides to take his anger out on Sam.</p><p>I cannot stress enough that this is really dark. It kind of got away from me, to be honest. So, yeah, read with caution, okay? This is not a happy fic, not by miles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clockwork Little Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a response to the teaser for 6.07, due to the lovely prompting of katwoman76. Obviously, I missed the deadline.

Sam woke slowly, his eyes blinking open in even intervals. A form leaned over him, inspecting and scrutinizing. He groaned as his nerves woke up and registered the pain in his face.  
  
“You're right,” a flat voice broke through his hazy thoughts, “He looks terrible.”  
  
Sam gasped, finding it difficult to breathe through his nose. His temples throbbed with a headache and every tiny movement seemed to put pressure in all the wrong places.  
  
“You did this?” The voice asked.  
  
Sam blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision and finally managed to put a face to the sound. “Cas?” And then he was aware of everything; the pain from Dean's beating, the dank feel of recycled motel air, the sharp hardness of a chair biting into his back and shoulders, his wrists were tied... “What's--” He didn't get to finish as Castiel reached out and pushed his head back, pulling on his eyelid.  _What the hell?_  “Let me go.”  
  
“Has he been feverish?” Castiel talked over him, dark eyes still studying Sam's face intently.  
  
“Have you?” Now there was a voice he knew. Dean was leaning against the far wall, watching Castiel's actions with the pensive attention of wary pray.  
  
Sam frowned. “No. Why?”  
  
“Is he speaking in tongues? Are you speaking in tongues?” Castiel's head whipped back and forth between the brothers, voice grave.  
  
“No. What are you...,” Sam paused, face twisted in confusion and then, with dawning clarity, he turned to glance at Dean in disdain, as if to ask  _are you serious?_ Looking back at Castiel, he asked, “Are you...  _diagnosing_  me?”  
  
“You better hope he can.” The deep timbre of Dean's voice cut through his senses.  
  
Shaking his head at his brother, Sam countered, “You really think this is--”  
  
“What, you think that there's a clinic out there for people who just pop out of Hell wrong?” Dean interrupted, agitation and anger rolling off him like heat off pavement. “He asks, you answer; then you shut your hole. You got it?”   
  
But it wasn't really a question.   
  
And Sam did as he was told.  
  
As Castiel pulled probing fingers away from Sam's neck, the younger Winchester held the elder's gaze for a split second longer before finally looking down in submission. He had nothing to say.  
  
The silent tension in the room grew thick enough to choke on, until Castiel's monotone broke the silence. “How much do you sleep?”  
  
Sam blinked and glanced up at the angel, frowning. It wasn't that he didn't want to answer; it was that he knew how Dean would react. Dean might have been Sam's mother growing up, but he had never had that sweet nurturing concern that all mothers have. No, Dean's response when he was worried? Getting angry.  
  
“I don't,” he replied.  
  
“At all?” Dean asked incredulously.  
  
Steeling himself for the onslaught of Dean's 'concern', Sam gazed up at his brother and said, “Not since I got back.”  
  
Castiel's lips tightened in his version of a frown and he turned to Dean.  
  
“And it never occurred to you,” Dean barked, “that there might be something off about that?”  
  
“Of course it did, Dean.” Sam tried not to let his exasperation leak into his voice. “I just never told you.”   
  
He stared at the floor, vaguely aware of Castiel moving to the opposite side of him. He heard Dean ask, “What?” but was too busy focusing on blocking the pain in his head that was growing with every second. He just wanted to get up and shower the blood and dirt off of him. He could feel it caking on his upper lip and making his nose too thick to breathe through.  
  
“Sam,” the angel's voice jerked his attention away from the pain and mess, “What are you... feeling, now?”  
  
Sam smirked, scoffing softly, and glanced up at Castiel, “I feel like my nose is broken.” And he smiled sweetly to further emphasize how much he was enjoying his brother's handiwork.  
  
Castiel leaned closer to him, staring hard at Sam's face. It was unnerving the way he did that sometimes. “No,” he said, “that's a physical sensation. How do you feel?”  
  
Sam frowned, glancing at Dean again for help. “Uh. I think--”  
  
“ _Feel_.” Castiel interrupted.  
  
“I...” Once more, Sam found himself dreading Dean's reaction more than admitting the truth, “...don't know.” His frown deepened when Castiel turned away from him and to Dean. Surprisingly enough, Dean didn't start shouting or pointing fingers or taking swings -- he looked down.  
  
Following his gaze, Sam saw Castiel undoing his belt and -- “Wha... uh?” -- Sam shook his head, trying so hard to figure out what bullshit this dick was about to pull.  
  
“This will be unpleasant,” came the bland explanation.  
  
“What?” Sam tried again, eyes darting back and forth from Castiel's face to his belt.  
  
“Bite down on this,” Castiel ordered and Sam complied out of reflex, teeth gripping tightly into the leather. Placing a steadying hand on Sam's shoulder, Castiel continued, “If there is someplace you find soothing, you should go there.”   
  
Sam met Dean's curious gaze, pleading silently. It wasn't that he was afraid; it was that Sam was still in pain from the beating his older brother had given him just hours prior and he desperately wanted to wash the thick blood off of him.   
  
“In your mind,” said Castiel, his voice pulling Sam’s attention away from his brother. He had a split second to breathe before Castiel's free hand pressed against his middle and then  _in_.  
  
Dean grimaced in sympathy, watching his brother strain against Castiel's probing hand, the chair creaking as Sam's arms sought to unbind themselves. The groans and cries Sam made were heartbreaking and tugged at something deep in Dean that he had forgotten even existed. His lip curled at the sight of Sam's mangled face, the memories of the night before and the feeling of his little brother's flesh yielding to every white-knuckled blow rising up through the depths of self-loathing and anger that filled his chest.  
  
Yet, he couldn't help the small flicker of joy he found in the muffled screams; he thought he had managed to move past Hell. It was habitual almost, the feeling that a tortured yelp could pull from him, how every delicate whimper made his heart race and his dick pulse. The fact that it was Sam made it all the more alluring. He could still feel the way Sam's throat would work the head of his cock like he could feel the waves of the ocean in bed after a long day at the beach... He shuddered with the sensation, reaching down to adjust his jeans around his hardening length.  
  
Castiel finally pulled his hand out of Sam's chest and Dean's skin prickled with the sudden, breathless hush that fell. He knew that sound intimately, the sound of pain ceasing and the endorphins rushing in to fill the space left in its wake. How many times had he reveled in that soft white noise of sweet suffering? How many times had he missed it?  
  
The angel stepped back, staring down at Sam with a tight, calculating expression. “This is strange,” he said over Sam's whimpering gasps (every single one running over Dean's cock like a slick and talented hand). The leather belt fell lifelessly to Sam's lap and then slid to the floor with a muted thud.  
  
“Well?” Dean barked, trading spots with Castiel. He could practically  _feel_  the way the air shifted as Sam's chest heaved with his pants. Yanking his gaze away from his (sweetly) suffering brother, Dean prompted the silent man again. “What is it?”  
  
“It's his soul,” said Castiel, looking up then, expression determined. “It's gone.”  
  
Dean blanched.   
  
Sam's breathing stilled to soft, barely-concealed gulps.  
  
Clicking his jaw shut in determination, Dean whirled on his younger brother, reaching out without thinking and grabbing a fistful of his thick hair. With a harsh twist of his wrist, he forced Sam's chin up.   
  
“So,” Dean growled, “This whole time you've been back, your  _soul's_ been god knows where.” His voice rose in volume, anger consuming what little part of him was still genuinely concerned for the fucked-up shell that was left of his brother. “Didn't think maybe something was  _wrong_  with that Sam!?”  
  
The younger Winchester grunted as he felt the pin-pricks of strands breaking off into Dean's fist. With a few hasty breaths, he glanced up at Dean and implored, “I know, Dean. I just--” He hissed as Dean's hand pulled carelessly further, “I just had other things to focus on. Damn it, Dean, I was weak! I couldn't hunt the way you did, I didn't have the strength you or Dad did. That you do.” He stared up at his brother, breathing heavily through his mouth and willing the aches in his body away. “This could be a good thing.” His false sincerity made Dean's stomach churn.  
  
“ _No_ ,” Dean hollered, letting go of Sam's hair long enough to land a solid punch across his bruised jaw. “How the hell is not having a soul a  _good_ thing!?” Dean shook with fury; nameless feelings, words he had never had the chance to say, accusations he had been dying to make since Sam came back into his life, all of it bubbled up and out. “How many innocent people have you let die? Who have you hurt? Who have you  _used_?” Dean threw his arms up in exasperation.  
  
“Dean--,” Castiel started, taking a step forward to intervene.  
  
“Cas.” Dean looked back at the angel, making him stop with his expression alone. They were silent for a moment, Castiel holding Dean's hard gaze, before the elder man lashed out again and yanked Sam's lolling head up by the hair. Sam groaned, hissing through the feeling and squeezing his eyes shut, waiting.  
  
Dean's stomach fluttered as he watched his younger brother's face. Sam and he hadn't touched one another since... since  _Ruby_. The thought was like acid on his tongue, burning corrosive tendrils through his nervous system. Dean thought about all the times he and Sam had fooled around in the past, pre-Hell, and how it had been rough even then; but post-Hell... the things he had wanted to do...  
  
“Dean.” The single word fell flat with Castiel's voice but the meaning behind it gave the elder Winchester pause. He glanced at the angel, weighing his options. Sam's controlled breathing filled his consciousness, broken only by the occasional car from the highway outside. Oh, those sweet sounds. Those pitiful choked syllables that caught in the back of Sam's throat... Dean would give him more than sound to choke on.  
  
With a playful glance to Castiel, Dean moved closer to his brother. “You still haven't gotten laid have you, Cas?” And it wasn't lost on Dean how quickly Sam's eyes shot open at that.  
  
The angel tilted his head, confused and pondering and only slightly flustered, but replied evenly, “No.”  
  
Dean snorted lightly. Pulling Sam's hair, he tilted his younger brother's head to the side and pressed his tongue flat against his throat, licking languidly at the sweat and blood there. The taste alone had Dean's prick aching for relief; he picked up the hint of pain on Sam's skin, was still well-versed in that particular flavor of the human self. It lacked the panic he was accustomed to, though, and that fact made his gut twist further.  
  
Sam grunted, struggling against his bonds. Dean pulled back and punched him again, aiming for his solar plexus this time. He barely gave Sam enough time to double over with a moan before he yanked his head back up by the hair, not caring for the strands that broke away. He could feel a place inside him, a dark and writhing pit within his soul waking up with every new sensation. People might have said that you leave a piece of yourself in Hell... well, what did they think takes up the place left behind?  
  
“What-- Dean, stop it,” Sam started, trying to resist, but it only served to excite Dean further.  
  
“I said you keep your hole shut,” Dean growled, feeling that pit inside him open up wide and swallow what little was left of his humanity. He'd get it back later, after he'd dealt with this thing that was his brother.  
  
Looking over his shoulder at Castiel, Dean's lips curled in a sinister facsimile of a grin. “Well,” he said lightly, “How about we fix that?”  
  
Castiel stared grimly as Dean leered at him over Sam's matted hair.  
  
“It's okay, Cas,” Dean whispered, voice gruff and low. With a particularly seductive glance to the angel, he yanked Sam's hair and tilted his younger brother's head back even further. As Sam grunted with the strain, Dean added, “You'll like it.”  
  
Castiel shook his head but took a hesitant step forward anyway.  
  
Sam barked a laugh, coughing as it made his throat constrict too tightly with the angle.  
  
“Sam,” Dean growled and Sam was instantly still. “Laughing counts as talking.”  
  
Sam didn't so much as breathe too loudly.  
  
With a fleeting smile, Dean looked back up to the angel. His hand released the fistful of thick hair and, ignoring Sam's desperate gasp, he crossed into the space of the angel.  
  
They were silent, staring into one another's eyes. Castiel cleared his throat, swallowing reflexively before saying, “Dean, I thought... uhm. Personal space?” The angel's brow was knitted tightly in confusion, his genuine concern for Dean's issue apparent in his expression.  
  
Dean just smiled. “Well, Cas, sometimes it's okay...” He lifted a hand and cupped the other's cheek, his thumb rubbing slowly back and forth along that perpetual five-o-clock shadow.  
  
Sam watched the exchange silently. Castiel's wide-eyed wonder turned to frustrated impatience and then to half-hearted hesitancy as Dean pressed further into him, bumping hips with the angel. When they kissed, Sam felt no jealousy, no betrayal, no sense of loss or anguish. He knew that was wrong; he knew that in the past there had always been the bite of resentfulness when Dean had flirted with a waitress or the cute thing hanging off the pool table. Now Castiel and Dean were in front of him and Dean was all but fucking Castiel's mouth... and Sam didn't feel a thing.  
  
His dick was mildly interested. But that was, as Cas had said, a physical sensation.  
  
Sam tried the restraints again, feeling the ropes around his wrist give way a bit. The action hurt though; his hands were raw from struggling and his chest ached all over from Castiel's invasive probing earlier, his face felt like it had been put through a wood chipper and stuffed with cotton, and his head was  _pounding_. Sam tried, despite it all, to get loose but he didn't get very far.  
  
Dean whirled around to stare at his brother. Castiel swayed on his feet for a second, eyes half closed and lips puffy from the kiss.  
  
“So, tell me, Sam,” Dean growled as he closed the distance between them, wedging a boot between Sam's knees and tipping the chair back. It rocked on its back legs and Sam stared up at his older brother helplessly. “Exactly how many people _have_ you killed?”  
  
“I haven't!” Sam shouted, willing his brother to believe him, “Dean. Come on, you know I wouldn't--”  
  
“You wouldn't?” Dean interjected quickly, “Yeah, well, a month ago I wouldn't have figured you'd let your own brother get Turned, but I was wrong about that!”

  
Sam had nothing to say to that.  
  
Dean pulled away from him, turning to look back at Castiel. As the front legs of the chair rocked forward and tapped against the floor, Sam let out a shaky breath... only to have it forced from his lungs as Dean whirled around and kicked him square in the chest. The wood of the chair splintered beneath Sam's weight as he toppled backwards, and he felt the unpleasant pinning of his wrist.  
  
Planting his feet on either side of Sam's torso, Dean sunk down to his knees and took fistfuls of Sam's shirt. He leaned in, leering at Sam's bruised and bloody face. “Stop lying to me,” he whispered and pressed a chaste kiss to his brother's lips. Sam groaned softly; in pain or pleasure, Dean couldn't be sure. Licking his lips, Dean could taste the tacky residue of old blood on the soft tissue. It sent a thrill of lust through him and he was certain Sam could feel his erection, thick and heavy, trapped in his jeans.  
  
He reached down and pulled a small knife from its hiding place in his boot, using it to slice through the buttons of Sam's shirt and then the thin cotton of his undershirt. Dean's eyes lit up at the broad expanse of flesh laid out for his use, the knife in his hand an extension of every sick and twisted yearning he had..... Well, almost every yearning. Some of them required a different tool.  
  
Pressing the blade against the underside of Sam's jaw, Dean made his little brother tilt his head back and expose the delicate column of his neck. Dean's mind wandered back to times in his past where he'd had countless millions at his mercy, just like this, and all the things he'd done to them. He could feel his flesh heat with the desire to do those things again; to drive the knife in so deep he could feel it pressing into the floor beneath Sam; to squeeze the fragile bones until they cracked and collapsed like brittle clay-dirt; to dig his finger nails in and yank Sam's larynx out, and feel the heated blood pour over his hands, and hear the sickening gargles as his little brother fought for air.  
  
A heavy hand on his shoulder jerked Dean out of his fantasy and he looked up to meet Castiel's deep gaze. It was then that he realized Castiel had been saying his name and that his own breath was coming in labored, needful gasps. Sam lay silently underneath him, squirming occasionally. Dean was certain that it couldn't be a comfortable position; he just couldn't seem to care.  
  
Without letting himself think too much on it, Dean dropped the knife next to his shoe and reached up to Castiel's pants, undoing the button and zipper with surprisingly steady hands. Castiel started to shy away but Dean reached out and held his hips firmly in place.  
  
Looking up and meeting those wide, wondrous pools of darkness, Dean smiled. “I told you,” he said quietly, pressing his hand against the firm outline of Castiel's cock, “You'll like it.”  
  
“Dean,” came the strangled reply.  
  
With one last, knowing look, Dean pulled the man's briefs down, exposing his half-hard prick. He took it in hand, enjoying the soft breathless noise above him, and sucked gently at the tip. Castiel groaned almost imperceptibly and it spurred Dean into continuing (not that he hadn't planned on that anyway). He let his hand pump Castiel's hardening cock as his tongue swirled around the head, licking away the pre-come collecting in the slit.  
  
Sam watched the exchange passively. Again he thought of how he should have been seething with anger or jealousy, but he felt nothing remotely like it. What he did feel was his breath quickening, ribs compressed against Dean's thighs, and his cock pressing hard up against Dean's ass. It was now that he was reminded of how that ass felt, how  _Dean_ felt, wrapped obscenely tight around his cock or vice versa. As Dean's weight rocked back from the small thrusts of Castiel's hips, Sam's own hips lifted needfully and rubbed his growing erection against Dean.  
  
With a sinfully wet smack, Dean pulled Castiel's cock from his mouth and glared down at his brother. “Enjoying this, Sammy?” He asked with a sneer, picking the knife up and pressing it against Sam's pulse again. He smiled as blood welled around the tip of the blade. “Gonna use me again?”  
  
There was no denying the want coursing through Sam's body at Dean's words. Worse yet, he couldn't deny how much he enjoyed that knife pressing painfully sharp into his neck.  
  
“Get up,” Dean commanded, standing up with the easy grace Sam had always envied him for. Grabbing fistfuls of hair, the elder brother lifted Sam from the ground and to his feet. Sam tried to bite back the yelp of pain but couldn't help himself; he had nothing to use as leverage from his position on the floor, with his hands tied, and his scalp burned with the abuse.  
  
Sam swayed unsteadily once he was on his feet, the floor seeming to roll and the walls undulating. The sudden change in altitude did nothing for the pounding in his skull and he could feel pressure building behind the bruised and inflamed flesh of his face. He wanted to ask what Dean was doing, but earlier words and threats rang through his mind; and, besides, he wasn't  _not_ enjoying himself.  
  
Dean tugged his brother closer, titling his head to bare the supple skin of his neck, and lapped at the bloody trail running from the nick at his pulse. Sam moaned at the feeling and was vaguely aware of Castiel moving around them to get a better view. Though he was certainly interested in what his brother wanted to do and he had no doubt that all of heaven was in on what sinful things he and Dean had done together, Sam couldn't help but feel a little strange knowing they had an active audience, with an angel of all things. His eyes locked with Castiel's and Sam felt like he had been flayed open, every deep, dark secret there for the angel to analyze and dissect.  
  
Their gaze broke when Dean pulled away from Sam's neck and kissed him instead, tongue diving in without any hesitation. Sam's knees almost gave out; how long had it been since they had done this? He had almost forgotten the way Dean tasted, the way their kisses were competitive and yet submissive, or how once their lips met, they would move in sync and then... just like that, would line up like puzzle pieces. Like a person's breathing will match their loved one's, Sam and Dean's bodies just  _fit_.  
  
Both men groaned into one another's mouth as their denim-clad erections pressed together. Sam rocked his hips against Dean's, aching to trace his hands over every jut and dip of Dean's body and re-familiarize himself with the topography. His brother seemed to have the same idea; his hands running sensually over the length of Sam's torso, reaching up along his shoulders to press the pieces of his shirts off. The fabric pooled over Sam's bound hands, hanging limply. Dean pulled away to grab the knife from earlier and used it to cut away at the left-overs.  
  
“You could just untie his hands,” Castiel said in his usual monotone. “I don't understand why you're ruining his clothes.”  
  
Dean smirked. “But you see, Cas,” he said, cutting as much of the fabric as he could without removing the bonds on Sam's wrists, “That would take all the fun out of it.” And he smiled again, that sinister sneer of a smile that made Sam's spine want to shiver right out of his skin.  
  
Castiel nodded, obviously not comprehending but not wanting to say anything in response to such a leering expression.  
  
Dean's fingers moved to Sam's pants, undoing the button and working them off his hips. A helpless shudder ran through Sam as Dean's hand brushed against his erection, finger tips teasing the elastic of his boxer-briefs for a few torturous moments. Sam rocked up on the balls of his feet, chasing after that feeling, begging for Dean to continue. Instead, Dean turned to Castiel, reaching out with a smile and kissing the angel again. Sam bit back a sad sound, hoping if he behaved then Dean would grace him with a little more attention; he just needed a little more...  
  
“Bed,” Dean commanded, pulling away from Castiel's mouth with a desperate gasp for air. Castiel almost whimpered at the loss of the stimulation and Sam ached in sympathy; he loved Dean's mouth. The things it could do... “On your knees,” Dean prompted and gave him a none-too-gentle shove in the direction of the mattress.  
  
Sam stumbled along, hands rubbing painfully against the ropes.   
  
He definitely liked this new Dean. Where had this person been all his life? Dean had never been like this. He was always somewhat hesitant, almost terrified. Which Sam could understand – they were kind of, sort of  _brothers_ and they were kind of, sort of having  _sex_... anyone would be a bit apprehensive. But where the hell had this person come from? Dean was being down right dominant.  
  
Sam did as he was told, somehow managing to maneuver himself up onto the mattress as instructed. He sat back on his heels and waited, staring at his knees. He could just make out Dean and Castiel in his peripheral vision, rutting against each other as Dean slowly pressed Castiel back toward the bed. With a soft  _flump_ , the angel fell backward, trench-coat fanning out along the nauseatingly gaudy pattern of the comforter. Dean bent down, drawing his knees up and onto either side of Castiel's hips, and continued exploring the angel's mouth with cautious, little noises. Castiel's hands hesitated on Dean's body, running delicately over his arms and shoulders. Sam smirked softly, thinking of virgins and awkward innocence. It was cute. Really.  
  
Dean pulled away as his hands worked Castiel's shirt open, his mouth following each button as he went. Castiel leaned his head back, eyelids fluttering with the feeling of Dean's supple mouth trailing down his chest. When he glanced upward at Sam, the younger Winchester shuddered again, feeling completely vulnerable. He was going to have to avoid the angel's gaze if it kept making him feel like this – it was not pleasant. Maybe if he still had his soul he wouldn't mind so much...   
  
“Sam,” Dean grumbled as he pushed Castiel's shirt and coat off together, helping him out the clothing and throwing them in a wad upon the floor. “Why don't you help Cas out, huh?” His eyes were bright and glassy as he glanced at his younger brother, making lust curl heavy in Sam's stomach. Scooting back and off the mattress, Dean reached down and pulled Castiel's pants down. With a small nudge to his thigh, Dean coaxed the angel into lifting up so he could slide the clothing all the way off, dropping it along with all the other articles on the floor.  
  
Castiel had modesty enough to blush with his nudity. His cock was firm and leaking, lying across the hollow of his hip, and the sight made Sam's mouth water. The idea of sucking that down while Dean did god only knew what behind him..... Sam's briefs were way too tight.  
  
Sam nodded and turned awkwardly on his knees to the angel, trying to find a way of bending down without falling completely flat.   
  
Castiel started to turn, angling himself toward Sam but Dean stopped him with a shout, “No! ...He can manage.” Dean smirked, eyes gleaming as he stared his brother down. It was then that Sam realized Dean was getting off on this, and it made the want in him flare into need.  
  
Licking his lips, Sam spoke hesitantly. “Can... can I get on the floor?” He glanced up at his brother, waiting for punishment or something. Who knew how far Dean would take his sudden domination fetish?  
  
“No,” Dean grumbled, pulling his shirts up over his head, “But I suppose Cas could scoot up a bit for you.” With a dangerous smile, he added, “I want your ass in the air while you suck him off, Sammy.” And that was all he would say; he turned away from the two of them and riffled through his duffel.   
  
Sam could only stare after him at a loss, but Castiel moved quickly and managed to crawl back all the way up the mattress until his head was on the pillows. Glancing back to the angel, Sam could see the hesitation and uncertainty behind Castiel's eyes. They were both at Dean's mercy here; like wide-eyed deer staring at a predator, unable to move even though they clearly knew the danger.

Concentrating on keeping his balance on the squishy mattress, Sam lifted one knee over Castiel's legs and straddled the man. Castiel stared down at him with wide eyes, soft lips parted in the look of awe that Sam was coming to appreciate. It was so strange to look up and marvel at his lips and yet cringe at his gaze. Sam wanted to study him.   
  
 _How far can we cut into Jimmy's body before Castiel starts to feel it? What happens when the body runs out of blood? He doesn't eat, right? He must be able to survive on... nothing. Wonder what he tastes like... Can he even come?_  
  
Sam wet his lips once, twice, then bent slightly, mouth open. He started to tip forward and quickly jerked back, butt hitting the top of Castiel's shins. This was going to be a little more difficult than he expected. Castiel started to reach out to help steady him but Sam shook his head,  _no_. If Dean said he could do it himself, then Sam was going to do it on his own.  
  
He slid his knees a little wider, enjoying the way Castiel's lips parted even further as Sam's legs spread open around him, and leaned back down. Sam's hands gripped the loose ends of the rope around his wrists tightly, as if that could somehow offer him leverage, but he managed to keep himself steady this time, the wider stance giving him more balance. He could hear Castiel's soft gasp as Sam's hair ghosted along the man's hip, his stomach contracting from the tickle.  
  
With a toss of his head, attempting to get his hair out of his way, Sam let his tongue run up the seam on the underside of Castiel's cock. The sound Castiel made was heartbreakingly sweet and so wanton that Sam could barely contain the need to just take him right then and there, fast and bloody.  
  
Castiel's hips lifted slightly as Sam's tongue moved over the engorged head of his dick, lips sucking at the flesh. He pressed his tongue to the slit of the angel's cock, lapping at the pre-come collecting there. Licking his lips once more, Sam pulled Castiel's cock into his mouth, tongue pressing against the soft spot beneath the crown and his cheeks hollowing around it.  
  
The moan Sam heard in response was down-right pornographic; the angel gripped at Sam's arms and pushed his hair out of his face, looking down with half-lidded, lust-blown eyes. Sam would have smiled if his mouth wasn't full. Instead, he gave an enthusiastic suck to just the head of Castiel's cock and started a steady rhythm with his mouth, thankful for the extra balance his spread legs gave him.  
  
“You know, Cas--” Dean's voice behind him made Sam jump, “--you can make him go further. Trust me, he can take it.” Sam could hear the way Dean's eyes would glimmer when he said that, the dead and haunted but very much delighted look in the bright green.   
  
A sudden shift in the air around him made Sam aware of Dean's presence in the room again. He could feel his brother behind him and he tried to play off the little twitch his hips gave. He felt something land near his ankles, then Dean's hands were hot against Sam's flesh as he grabbed the younger man by both thighs and pulled, reaching here and there to adjust the angle. Sam complied willingly to it all, knowing his brother would be happy with it – and that's what all this was about, right? Making sure Dean was happy, making Dean okay with his screwed up little brother.  
  
Castiel's hips shifted, trying to align himself with Sam's mouth. Sam took the hint and continued sucking, pulling him further down his throat than before. It would have been so much easier if his hands had been free. Castiel's cock fell wetly against his hip every time Sam pulled away to allow himself a chance to breathe; the dried blood in his nose made it difficult to get air. He made good work of it, though, wrapping his lips around the head once he'd caught a breath or two and sucking the thick flesh back into his mouth. Castiel didn't seem to mind, anyway.  
  
“Damn it, Sam,” Dean cursed from behind him and Sam felt his stomach lurch, wondering what he could have done wrong. “I said your ass needed to be in the air.” He felt his older brother's fingers slide through his hair and grip the back of his skull. Then Dean's chest brushed against the overheated skin of Sam's back and Dean's hot breath ghosted over his ear. “I get that it's hard without your hands, but let's try it a little differently, okay?” He pushed Sam's head down as he pulled at his hip and, just like that, Sam's ass was up in the air and his nose was buried at the base of Castiel's cock.  
  
His throat fluttered as his gag reflex tried valiantly to make itself known, and Castiel was damn near speechless at the head of the bed, gasping and choking back pathetic little sounds that had Sam wanting to come harder than he could ever remember. He could just make out the faint taste of Castiel's pre-come on the back of his tongue, mixing in with the saliva that his mouth was more than ready to make. The problem was that now, given the way he was positioned, he couldn't find a way to lift himself back up and he needed to breath.  
  
Dean knew his brother needed to breath, knew that he could only fight back his reflex for so long, but he just didn't care. More to the point, part of him was convinced that if he just pushed hard enough, eventually Sam would break and be whole again, as if Dean could fuck and beat and tear the soul back into his little brother.  
  
So he pushed on the back of Sam's head, keeping his little brother's face buried in Castiel's groin, and whispered sweet nothings into his ear. “You're going to swallow Cas' cock, Sam.” He pressed gentle little kisses to the soft skin behind and below Sam's ears, teasing the flesh. “You're going...”  _kiss_ , “...to take all of that...”  _kiss_ , “...and then...you're going to take... whatever...else I give you... you got that?” He finished with a hard spank to Sam's tight ass, smiling at the thick yelp and consequential choked gags that escaped around the dick in Sam's mouth.  
  
Dean pulled his hand away from Sam's head and used it, instead, to yank his briefs down. He smiled at the sight, having forgotten so much of Sam's body over the years. He wondered if Sam would feel the same way, Hell's time being so different from the regular world's.   
  
The thought was extinguished by Castiel's words echoing in his head:  _It's his soul..... It's gone_.   
  
More than likely Sam didn't give a rat's ass about Dean or how Dean looked; no more so than whether he was good looking enough to get off on or not. The thought angered him, made him want to hurt Sam more than he should, make him scream and choke and stain the filthy, ugly, wretched comforter a deep, dark red.  
  
Sam pulled back from Castiel's cock a bit, his body starting to realign as it had been. Dean stopped him quickly with a hand against the back of his head. He shoved Sam down, biting back a smile at Sam's suffocated gasp. The thing that was his younger brother struggled, gripping at the bonds and rags around his hands and coughing through his nose. Dean kept one hand on Sam's head and the other wrapped around his hips, holding him in place. Tilting a little, Dean could see the way Sam's throat contracted around the intrusion, thin strands of bile trickling out between his lips, and how every smothered cough forced clotted blood and mucus through his nose, mingling with the curls of Castiel's pubic hair.   
  
He would have to make sure Sam licked that clean once this was done.  
  
When he met Castiel's gaze over Sam's auburn mane, Dean could only smile in response to the angel's wide-eyed stare. There was a scared and fretful warning somewhere in that gaze. It reminded him of the night he had dragged Castiel out to get laid – scared, uncomfortable, but unwilling to tell Dean no. And now, just as before, Dean could only smile because Castiel was enjoying this just as much as he was; albeit, in a slightly different way, but still enjoyment just the same.  
  
“Feels good, right, Cas?” Dean smiled softly, gazing up at his friend and knowing the answer even before Castiel nodded his head reluctantly. “Show him how good it is, Sam,” he continued as he slid his free hand up Sam's torso and teased his nipples.  
  
Sam moaned pitifully, gagging on the sound, and Dean loved the look on Castiel's face, the pure heaven of it (hah, and wasn't that an ironic thought). Dean knew how Sam felt; his too-hot mouth and unbelievably soft throat, all working around his cock in a most perfect ballet.   
  
Dean might have been the one born with the lips for this, but Sam definitely got the talent. Dean could think of nothing better than slipping his dick between those plush lips and down that open throat, firm tongue pushing against all the right spots on the underside of his prick, cheeks hollowing and sucking hard around the thick organ, throat pressing tight against the head as he slid himself further and further into Sam's willing mouth.  
  
Well, he could think of maybe one thing.  
  
Castiel had propped himself up on his elbows, staring down at Sam's head with something like horrified joy or elated terror -- Dean couldn't be sure of the distinction.  
  
“Dean,” the usual even depth of Castiel's voice was ragged now, “He can't breathe.”  
  
The younger Winchester made a soft whimpering sound at this; his body jerked with the occasional convulsion, gag reflex overriding his own determination. Sam put up no other fight, though, and Dean was starting to think he could get used to this new, obedient little brother.  
  
“He  _can't. Breathe_.” Castiel was pleading.  
  
Dean caved, yanking at Sam's hair and pulling his head up.  
  
Sam gasped loudly, sputtering and choking through it. He coughed, lungs heaving with the effort, and Dean nuzzled against the curve of his shoulder, pressing his chest to Sam's back and feeling his younger brother's ribs move against his own. It was something he had always done with Sam, even when they grew out of each other's beds; just having Sam breathing against him was enough to calm any concern Dean felt. It was twisted now, though – this thing in his brother's skin pretending to be Sam and not, at  _all_ , any little bit the man Sam was.  
  
Dean could remember how, in Hell, he used the same position to get off -- feeling the soul's lungs slowly stop pressing against the confines of their cage, and feeling his own joy in being the one to have caused it. Sliding his hands up the front of his brother’s body, Dean remembered having reached into a soul’s chest and, through the deep gouges he had carved beneath its ribs, squeezing the life out of the porous tissue. It was splendorous, feeling the soul’s bones contort against Dean’s chest as its insides twisted and squirmed within his grasp and then finally, painfully went limp.  
  
He wanted to feel this thing's lungs fight for air; he didn't want to kill it, since his brother did need a body, after all, but he would make it earn every breath. Oh, he would make this thing beg for air, beg for just a moment's reprieve.  
  
He pushed Sam back down, twisting the hand he had buried in his hair, and growled into Sam's ear, “Fine, you get to breathe when Cas says you can.” And with a harsh shove, he let go of Sam's head.   
  
Sam collapsed across Castiel's hip, trying to catch his breath and wipe the revolting mess from his face onto the comforter. A wry grin tugged at the corner of Dean's lip, characterizing the pride and sadistic joy he felt at having caused this soulless thing's suffering  
  
Dean looked up to see the angel staring at him, but hell, he was a fucking  _angel_ ; if Cas wanted out, he could just disappear. When Sam's mouth returned to Castiel's cock, sucking it down and working his lips around the base, Dean was certain that the angel wouldn't be saying anything or leaving any time soon.  
  
“You be good now, Sammy,” he whispered against Sam's neck, planting another chaste kiss to the feverish skin. His younger brother shuddered in response, Castiel's own soft groan issuing forth.   
  
Pulling away from them and moving back to the edge of the mattress, Dean ran a hand over the swell of Sam's ass and slid one finger through the crack teasingly. He heard Sam try to moan but it was lost around the cock in his throat.  
  
He pressed harder, his finger held tight against the puckered entrance. It resisted and Dean could only smile at the challenge.   
  
“So, Sam,” he said absently, “How many guys have you fucked since getting back? I mean, without a soul, I bet you've gone out and fucked every hooker in town.” He smirked at the smothered responses his younger brother made, and the way Castiel shifted uneasily at the mention of certain iniquitous people.   
  
“That's okay,” continued Dean, as he pulled his finger away and popped the cap on the bottle of lube that he had left near Sam's feet. He smeared the sticky substance over two fingers, not bothering to warm it up at all before slipping his fingers back into the crease of Sam's ass and pushing both digits against the tight hole there.  
  
Sam jerked at the sudden pressure, yanking his head away from Castiel's cock with a gasp. “ _Dean_ ,” he started to warn but it turned into nothing more than a pained groan as Dean's fingers breached him and the burning stretch filled every conscious nerve he had. Dean reached with his free hand and shoved Sam's head down onto Castiel's dick again.  
  
Sam whimpered and gripped handfuls of the tatters that hung around his hands, desperately clinging to the shreds in some hope of salvation. The pain was sudden and harsh, burning as Dean's fingers barely gave Sam's body time enough to adjust before they pushed further,  _deeper_ into him. He kept his mouth on Castiel's cock, though, determined to do what Dean asked of him. It was right in his face, anyway; the position just lent itself to cock-sucking so well. But the pain...   
  
Dean was making it hurt on purpose, Sam knew that much. Little prep, hardly enough lube, and jerky, pushy motions all made for rough and painful sex. Sam knew Dean couldn't be thinking about Sam, then; he knew that Dean would never, in a million, billion years, have treated his “Sammy” this way. No, Dean was taking his frustrations out on the poor guy that just happened to wind up here in Sam's flesh, sans soul. So Sam was going to grit his teeth and take it and make Dean happy. Besides, Dean was still aiming to get Sam off, too, if his probing fingers were anything to go by.  
  
With a slight tilt of Sam's hips, Dean's fingers pressed against a fucking gorgeous spot inside him and it was all the he could to not bite down on the cock in his mouth. Fuck, but that felt nice. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone toy with his prostate; Sam hadn't been against fucking guys since he got back, but he never bottomed. The way it made his nerves sing and his dick leak... Sam found himself pushing back onto Dean's fingers, rocking in time with the movement of his mouth on Castiel's cock.  
  
“Fuck,” Dean groaned from behind him, “That's right, you little whore.”   
  
Where the  _fuck_ had this person come from? Sam had absolutely no recollection of this Dean.  
  
“I'm gonna make you fuck yourself onto Cas' cock, you got that? Make you bounce on that thick piece of meat.”   
  
Sam all but whined in response.  
  
Dean smiled and smacked the taut ass quivering before him. “Sound like a plan, Cas?” He gazed over Sam's broad back, enjoying the display of bruised ribs and chafed wrists, and felt his smile widen at the sight of Castiel's blissful expression.   
  
Castiel gave a soft nod, barely conscious of Dean's presence, his hips bucking up with each rock of Sam's mouth.   
  
Dean barked a laugh and, oozing a little more lube from the bottle onto the fingers buried in his brother's ass, he worked a third finger into the tight hole. “Yeah, I think this little cock-slut here needs it. Bad.” And Castiel's eyes opened wide in shock.  
  
With a loud and gut-deep groan, Castiel came hard into Sam's unprepared mouth. Noticing just a second too late, Dean pushed Sam's head forward and down, forcing the younger man to take all of Castiel's dick. Sam sputtered but swallowed obediently, attempting to catch it all but missing some and really only managing to swallow half of it. Most of it leaked out along Sam's jaw or dripped onto Castiel's hips and stomach.   
  
Dean whistled low; his eyes traced the way the angel's throat worked and the way his chest heaved with each gasp, and how the spatters of spunk glistened in the hazy motel lighting and, finally, fixated on the beautiful 'O' of Castiel's mouth.  
  
Dean removed his fingers from Sam, then yanked his younger brother's head off Castiel's cock and pulled until Sam's back was flush with his chest. He kept pulling Sam's head further, his own elbow extending back more in order to force Sam into baring his neck. Dean could make out every rippling vertebrae, each taut tendon, and could see Sam's pulse hammering wildly just above the congealed, brick-colored mass that was left of his knife's handiwork.  
  
Sam's ribs shuddered with each wet rasp he took, lungs fluttering like caged birds as he gulped air. Dean could feel his little brother's core tighten and shudder through his gag reflex, could almost smell the rancor of bile lingering in the back of Sam's raw throat.  _That must burn_ , Dean thought vindictively.  
  
Pivoting Sam's head toward him, Dean leered at the bruise-mottled flesh of Sam's face. Busted capillaries dusted his skin in spider-webbed patterns, and thick lumps of inflamed tissue adorned the outline of his skull. His lips had cracked again when they stretched to take all of Castiel's prick and there were new masses of blood congealing along his lips. Fine, delicate, gossamer strands hung from Sam's gaping mouth and even more inside it, joining the mandibles of his jaw like cavernous columns. They were pinkish – some a deeper red, like vinaigrette in strawberry milk – and Dean's cock pulsed at the very notion of Cas coming in Sam's throat and mixing all of the gore together.  
  
The deconstruction of Sam's flesh was fucking  _gorgeous_.  
  
Sam wheezed as he tried to breathe, air rattling through the thick mucosa of his throat. Dean could see no way that Sam was able to breathe through his nose, there was just too much blood caking his nostrils. And he'd held Sam's head down for an awfully long time...  
  
As the silken strands of spit finally broke in half, the thick, sticky mess collected in pinpoints of liquid on Sam's lips. Dean leaned down, pulling Sam's hair enough to make his spine bend back, way back, and licked the spots away. Blood and sweat and come and  _pain_ flowed over Dean's taste-buds and he shuddered, pressing his hard-on into Sam's hip.  
  
Sam moaned his assent and tried to bend back over, hair tightening in Dean's grasp.  
  
“What?” Dean all but cooed, “Need another cock down your throat, Sammy?”  
  
Sam turned himself awkwardly, trying a different tactic, in an attempt to face Dean and get to his brother's erection. He licked at his abused lips, wincing at the copper taste and painful cracks in the tender tissue. His rear ached from Dean's intrusive fingers, the skin back there sticky and uncomfortably moist from the lube, but his cock was still hard from the stimulation. He wanted more. He needed to get off. Needed it so badly.  
  
“Dean,” Sam whispered, struggling against the bonds around his wrists in an effort to reach out and touch his brother, “Please...”  
  
With little warning, the elder Winchester lashed out and punched Sam across the jaw. Sam yelped, pain blossoming fresh across the old, abused nerves in his face and he had to bite his cheek to fight reflexive tears. Falling back against the mattress in a heap of limbs, he tried to curl into himself; his whole body was one aching, pulsing bruise needing relief.  
  
“Dean!” Castiel shouted in surprise but was ignored by both boys.  
  
“Don't beg,” Dean growled, bending at the waist and grabbing Sam by the chin, jerking him close enough to feel Dean's breath move the ringlets of hair hanging in his face, “Don't ask me for anything, you freak. You're not my brother. You don't get the _luxury_ of begging.”  
  
Sam almost whimpered but bit it back. Castiel was watching them both without comment, lips pursed tightly. He had moved from his lying position on the bed earlier; his knees were drawn up in front of him, in an awkward attempt to cover himself. Sam couldn't quite tell if the angel was blushing out of modesty or if it was just post-coital flush.  
  
“I'm sorry I'm not him,” Sam whispered. He didn’t mean it, not really, but it seemed the right thing to say.  
  
“Oh, don't,” Dean growled in disgust, muttering something about not knowing meanings, and pushed Sam away from him. Standing up from the mattress, Dean turned to their silent spectator. “Swap spots with me. 'Bout time someone used that mouth the way it was meant to be used.”   
  
Castiel wasted no time hopping up from the bed, almost afraid to say anything against Dean's command, but he seemed at odds with his nudity and unable to figure out what to do with himself now that he was standing up.  
  
Sam wobbled, trying to maintain his balance as the bed shifted and moved beneath the three men. As Dean took up Castiel's original position against the headboard and pillows, Sam spread his legs wide over Dean's and waited for instruction. He didn't want to move without invite.  
  
“Cas,” Dean said, drawing the wandering attention of the angel, “There's a bottle of lube there on the edge. Why don't you try him out? You'll enjoy the experience.” Dean chuckled to himself like it was the funniest damn thing. Sam just tried to angle his rump a little higher, hoping that Castiel would figure out what the hell a prostate was and maybe Sam could get off after all.  
  
Dean watched the angel walk around to Sam's backside, each movement tense and hesitant, holding his hands in front of his manhood in an awkward gesture of virtue. With one last, furtive glance at Sam and then Dean, Castiel placed his attention solely on the bottle of lube he picked up and the exposed flesh of Sam's rear.   
  
Sam shuddered at Castiel's first, soft touch, but Dean didn't let him think too much on it. He reached out, grabbing fistfuls of Sam's hair again, and pulled his face close. Sam gasped, whimpering and shutting his eyes tight. Dean could have watched Sam all day, the way his muscles flexed and tightened trying to keep himself upright: eye-candy personified.   
  
“So,” he breathed into Sam's space, and the younger flinched in response. “Who have you fucked since you got back, Sam?” Sam's eyes shot open at that comment. “Who have you ridden hard enough to break? Do you even care who you hurt?”   
  
Sam's gaze pleaded for mercy, but Dean knew better than to trust it.   
  
“No,” Dean said, “You don't care about anything... except yourself, I suppose.”   
  
With a sigh, Sam's gaze fell and he gave no answer. Months ago Dean might have bought that Sam was truly sorry for what he did. Maybe his little brother was still there, just twisted and messed up and needed guidance.   
  
 _He let you get turned_ , a little voice reminded him.  _Ben. Lisa. They could have died. And you would have done it – you would have killed them.... because of him_.  
  
With a guttural growl, Dean shook Sam's head back up. The younger cried out, obviously hurting, but Dean didn't care now. He was too busy thinking over all the times he'd known something was wrong, all the times he'd told people that Sam wasn't  _Sam_ , all the times he almost wanted to go back to Lisa and beg forgiveness but couldn't... and he felt the anger rise within him. It was just too easy to let go and slip back to years,  _decades_ ago when all that mattered was how many more he could maim.   
  
This wasn't Sammy. It wore his face, it wore his skin, it spoke like him and it even had the same bitchy attitude as him – but it wasn't him. Dean had known that from the jump and now he had an angel's seal of approval.  _Imposter_. So, if Sam couldn't express emotion, if his capability to truly _feel_ was gone – what did it matter what Dean did to him? If Dean hurt him, so be it. It's not like Dean would ruin a relationship – there was hardly one there to ruin.   
  
The dark thoughts bubbled up into his consciousness like a well-loved but long-lost friend. They wove their deviant tendrils through him and made his skin prickle with sickening needs. His head felt heavy and his breath labored, but Dean stared at his brother's face through the heady mess of his thoughts and knew that none of it mattered.   
  
Sam's eyes widened, mouth twisting in a grimace, as Castiel made some movement behind him. Dean grinned, watching Castiel's wonder playing out in his expression. The angel bit his lip, arm moving behind Sam, and the faintest tease of his tongue flickered across those lips – Dean pulled Sam's head down and onto his prick.  
  
“Oh,  _fuck yes_ ,” Dean groaned, heat enveloping his cock. Sam was good at it, Dean knew that, but he hadn't realized how badly he had missed this. It was bittersweet for a moment, making heartache well up in his chest before the darker thoughts in his mind pushed it away and reminded him this  _wasn't_ Sam. This was  _not_ his brother. This, this  _thing_ was just a shell of a body, incapable of begrudging its attackers.   
  
Sam kept sucking, though; he was eager to please and desperate to do the best job he could. Dean's hands were fisted in his hair and jerked his head up and down, and it was barely all Sam could do just to keep up and prevent his neck from snapping. He had just enough wit to pull his lips in and cover his teeth – he didn't want to think what Dean would do if he dared to brush his teeth along the flesh.   
  
There was a giddy feeling of pride in the pit of Sam's stomach as Dean slowly broke apart beneath his mouth. Sam didn't even have to do much work, Dean did it for him: he pulled and pushed at Sam's head, slapped him, thrust his hips up and all but face-fucked him. Obscenities, insults, and wordless syllables tumbled from Dean's lips. Sam wanted to argue back,  _no, I don't like your cock that far down my throat, can't you feel me choking?_ But somehow he knew Dean wouldn't hurt him irreparably. No matter how far Dean tumbled into this acute madness, Sam knew the bond of brotherhood they shared before the Apocalypse would be strong enough to keep Dean from really hurting him.   
  
At least, he hoped so.   
  
Castiel finally manned up and pushed two fingers into Sam's hole, making him grunt in surprise and forget himself a moment.  
  
“Hey!” Dean growled, yanking Sam's mouth off him, “Watch the fucking teeth.” He smacked Sam hard across the cheek, igniting a flare of pain where he was already bruised.   
  
Sam started to answer back but the answer got caught in his throat behind blood and spit-up and come – Dean making some derogatory analogy to Paris Hilton – and by the time he had finished coughing his way through it, Dean was already pulling his mouth back to his cock.   
  
“Mmm, yeah,” Dean was saying, hand holding the back of Sam's head down forcefully, “Fuck. Like that.”   
  
Castiel kept pushing at Sam's hole, working a third finger in next to the first two and Sam moaned deeply. He would split in two if Castiel kept going, but he didn't mind – what was one more pain among all the current others? The constant up and down of his head never made the pressure in his head or behind his cheekbones lessen at all. His abused throat burned from the pit of his stomach all the way up, making his teeth ache. His lungs were exhausted from the work they'd been doing. His chest hurt from Castiel's invasive experiment earlier. Then, don't forget, there was the beating Dean had given him earlier still. So, really, what were a few fingers shoved up his ass?  
  
“You... ah, fuck... you can,” Dean was trying to say something; Sam could hear the coherent words in between pants and curses. “You can fuck him, Cas... I'm sure – ohhh,  _fuck_.” And with a quiet sob of need, and a grimace that Sam knew intimately well, Dean came. Wave after wave of spunk hit Sam's tongue and he swallowed it down, as was expected. He ached to have his hands free, working his brother through the last aftershocks, but Dean kept humping up into his mouth and it worked just as well.   
  
Sam was vaguely aware of the empty twinge in his ass - Castiel's fingers missing - and the fact that the angel had crawled up next to him on the mattress to watch Dean fall apart. His expression was rapt, curious and absorbed.  
  
With a couple pants and a whistle, Dean pushed Sam away from him. “Damn,” he moaned as Sam flopped back onto the mattress -- he was going to savor the moment where he could just lie there and breathe. “Enjoy the show, Cas?” He chuckled, but Castiel was sheepishly silent and it almost made Sam grin.   
  
“I'd never--” Castiel started to say but stopped, weighing his words carefully. “This is all very new to me.”   
  
Dean laughed, leaning back further against the headboard.   
  
After a long pause, where all they did was breathe (or gasp, in Sam's case), Castiel asked, “Why exactly did you have me put my fingers in Sam's anus like that?”  
  
 _Buzz-kill of the moment, as usual_ , Dean grumbled to himself. “Because Cas – you just – he- uhm... fuck.” Dean sat up straight and looked over at Sam, who could only shake his head helplessly, unable to offer an explanation. “Well... put it this way: anal sex is like a blowjob, a handjob and pussy all wrapped into one.”  
  
Castiel stared at him, brow nit together, uncomprehending.  
  
With a sigh, Dean went on to say, “What Sam did to you earlier?” Castiel shot a split-second glance at Sam and then ducked his head, blushing scarlet. “Yeah, it's better than that.  _So_ much better.” Dean grinned mischievously at Castiel. “Sam! Roll over.” Not waiting for Sam to comply, Dean pushed Sam harshly over and onto his stomach.   
  
Sam went willingly, wincing as Dean pressed his mouth close up against his ear and said, “Stay. Here.”   
  
Sam had no intention of disobeying, but he was starting to wonder if maybe he'd been wrong about Dean and that bond they had shared. Maybe Dean really  _would_ hurt him. He felt Dean bounce off the mattress and pad across the room. In that still moment, Sam caught Castiel's gaze; again, he felt his stomach swoop with self-incriminating guilt, but he kept their eyes locked and pleaded wordlessly for salvation.   
  
Castiel scooted closer to him, reaching out and thumbing away a few streaks of come left on Sam's face. With a distasteful grimace, he wiped his hand on the bed sheet. When he turned back, almost smiling in that unsure affect of his, Sam was positive he was about to say he was sorry, but then Dean returned. With the knife.   
  
“Wha-- Dean, come on,” Sam started to say.  
  
“Shut up and do what you're told.” As an after-thought, he added, “I'm not going to kill you, if that's what's worrying you.”  
  
Castiel watched Dean closely, eyes wide and cautious, but Dean paid him no mind. Instead, he brought the knife down and cut through the ropes around Sam's hands. As he helped to unwind the dregs of fabric and twine from Sam's wrists, his brother moaned pitifully, gritting his teeth against the bedspread.   
  
His wrists - and slightly further up his forearms - were rubbed so raw that shreds of flesh came away with the fabric. The pieces of his shirt were sticky with blood and the rope was soaked where the twists of it had pushed hardest into his skin.   
  
Even as Dean was pulling the rope away and flinging the left-overs of Sam's shirt into a corner of the room, Sam didn't move his arms. His elbows bowed a little to relieve the pain in his shoulder blades that had been slowly building, like pressure in a shaken bottle, but he couldn't fathom moving his wrists just yet.   
  
When Dean had cut that first rope, Sam had cringed at what was coming next. The skin had clotted against the bindings and when Dean pulled it away, it burned all the way up his arms. It had made his eyes sting and water, his mouth twisting in a deep grimace as he grit his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache with the tension. Just the littlest lifts and turns of his wrists that Dean made, unwinding and pulling the fabrics off him, had made his arms a searing focal point in his consciousness. For the time being, Sam was content to lie as he had been, on his stomach with his hands behind his back, gulping in breath after breath and willing his body to stop feeling so much.  
  
“Dean, this isn't right,” Castiel said softly, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. “We should stop this. Clean him up. We can find his soul and--”  
  
“And  _what_ , Cas?” Dean growled, narrowing a threatening stare at the angel. “What  _exactly_ is it that you propose we do? My brother's soul is still in Hell, still caught in that cage with Lucifer and Michael and-- and...,” Dean stopped, lips tight and eyes wet.   
  
Castiel tightened his grip on Dean's shoulder. “I cannot tell you it will be easy, Dean. But... hurting him like this will not bring his soul back.”   
  
Dean shook his head, staring down at Sam's ruined arms and tracing the deep cuts with the very tip of his knife. Sam shook with tremors but stayed still, letting Dean tease the tender skin.  
  
“Besides...” Dean began but trailed off as his mind suddenly went somewhere completely separate from where he had intended. “Besides, you still have to get properly laid. And Sam here hasn't had a turn to get off, either.” And just like that, the malice was gone, replaced with a vacant, haunted gaze that chilled Castiel to the bone. “It's only fair, Cas.”   
  
Sam couldn't see Dean's face, but he could see Castiel's and, as Dean spoke, Sam's hope fell. Castiel's expression turned from fear to anger to... sympathy? Sam almost couldn't believe it but he would have sworn that was what he saw in the angel's face.   
  
“So, Sam,” Dean said, smacking him too hard on the rump. It made Sam groan despite himself. “Got your hands back. Let's see you use 'em. Up on your knees.”   
  
 _Please_ , Sam silently pleaded through the haze of pain,  _please, just let me lay here. Leave me be. I don't want to get up... I don't want to move... Please, don't make me get up_. His wrists stung from the very  _air_ ; he hated to imagine how much it would hurt when he finally had to move.   
  
“Up!”  
  
Sam cried out as pain laced through his hip. Panting harshly, he looked back to see the knife bloody and a long gash of crimson along his skin. Dean had  _cut him_. What little hope Sam had of Dean still holding onto that brotherly bond now floated away and left him feeling empty and... afraid. He was actually  _scared_ that Dean might kill him.   
  
“Dean,” Castiel whispered, “Stop this.” He reached out, placing his hand on Dean's. “There's no reason to--” He stopped when Dean turned to look at him. Sam still couldn't see Dean's face from where he lay but Castiel's mouth closed, words dying before they could even reach his lips, and he said no more on the subject.   
  
With a teasing, warning graze of his knife, Dean barked at Sam again to get up. Sam knew it would hurt; now that the rope was gone, his wrists hurt even more, as if the air of their room were laced with salt.   
  
As he pulled his arms around, Sam cried out loud with the pain of it. His skin felt like it would fall off, shredded and mangled – and how could it not, when it hurt  _so much_? Scabs cracked open and Sam could feel his eyes tear in reaction.   
  
His whines turned to disbelieving gasps when he finally got his hands underneath him: the skin was scraped raw. Some places had actually been abraded by the tight bonds; deep channels of clotted gore curled around his wrists. Blood was caked in the lines of his skin, in the grooves of his cuticles. It dripped freshly down to his hands, soaking his palms in red.  
  
The sheer anguish of Sam's cries was like a warm wash of calm over Dean's unfocused mind. He knew those noises. The anchor in all this mess could be found in those hauntingly familiar, beautifully discordant shrills that issued forth from the man in front of him. Dean could  _hear_ his blood quicken - it pounded in his ears, but it wasn't louder than the stifled screams Sam gave. No, those he would hear, even over the loudest din.   
  
Dropping the knife, Dean reached out and tugged Sam's hips back – making sure to brush his thumb over the fresh cut – and enjoyed the moans Sam made. He told Sam to keep his hands on the bed, which meant that as he pulled Sam's hips back further and further, he was forced to stretch his arms longer and longer. It pulled the abused flesh taught and Dean's dick twitched at the sight. He wanted to press his thumb into the deep gouges, see how far in he would have to go to find the tendons. He wondered vaguely if Sam would go into shock – he was awfully beaten up by now.   
  
 _Nah_ , Dean told himself,  _He's been through worse_.   
  
Bending a bit, Dean licked at the cut along Sam's hip. It was shallow – they'd suffered far worse on their easiest hunts – but it wasn't about the localized pain. No, it was more than that; there was an art to this that Dean had perfected and he was going to put that talent to good use. A single ant bite doesn't hurt much, but combined with a few dozen other ant bites, it starts to be a problem. Sam was likely numb to the individual pains by now, but it didn't mean he'd shut down completely... not yet.   
  
Sam trembled when Dean's tongue touched his skin, but he remained in the same position that Dean had placed him.  _Good boy_ , Dean chuckled to himself. He pressed his fingertips into the flesh of Sam's rear, kneading and then smacking it. Sam yelped at each smack, not expecting it and unable to hold back.   
  
It made Dean proud to know that he had broken the great, unfeeling, soulless Sam within less than an hour. The stoic statue that his brother had become now crumbled at Dean's feet, wrought with pain and unable to mask it.   
  
Another harsh crack made their ears ring as Dean brought his hand down on Sam's ass one more time, letting it rest there and tease the warm skin. Sam breathed heavily from his kneeling position and Dean had a solitary moment of remembrance; a dozen other times he and Sam had shared themselves with each other, yielding and pushing and begging and giving, all flashed through his mind. Sam was so much younger in those memories, nothing like the man in front of him now. Dean frowned, fingers tracing along the cut of Sam's hip. What had happened to his little Sammy?  
  
Castiel leaned closer to Dean, demeanor placating and voice soft, and said, “Dean... Punishing him won't bring his soul back. We don't need to keep going.”  
  
No, was the only reply Dean gave the angel.  
  
Sam was passive during their exchange. He was starting to get used to the pressure in his head, and he was thankful to have some relief for his aching shoulders. His wrists had clotted again, but he expected them to be broken open at least a few more times before the night was over. Dean wouldn't let him off so easily; especially not now, not when he had Sam on his hands and knees, just waiting to be fucked. Sam was hardly aroused anymore (how could he be?) but he had a feeling Dean was going to put all that time they had spent together, years ago, to good use.   
  
“Now watch closely,” Dean was saying. To Castiel, Sam assumed. “ _This_ is why I was having you play with him earlier.”  
  
Sam choked on a scream as Dean shoved two fingers in with absolutely no warning. It ached, it burned, and his insides squirmed from the intrusion.  _Out-out-out_ ; but Dean just kept pushing in, pulling back when the resistance was too much and then plowing further. In hardly any time at all, he had his fingers all the way in. Sam groaned with the pain of what Dean was doing and with the relief that he had a moment's reprieve.   
  
Dean was saying something to Castiel again, but Sam couldn't be bothered to pay attention. His mind was too preoccupied with overwhelming sensations. With a crook of Dean's fingers, Sam's mouth opened and he moaned a whole new kind of sound. He could practically hear the grin on Dean's face.   
  
“I don't understand,” Cas was saying.   
  
Dean's fingers kept moving, angling just right to find that one spot. Sam begged wordlessly with every brush of Dean's fingers, hoping to encourage him to keep pressing _there, right fucking there_. But Dean was teasing him, barely pressing down on the sensitive gland, fingers bending and weaving inside of Sam but never quite putting enough pressure to really make it count.   
  
It was maddening.   
  
Dean said, “That's a prostate. Every guy's got one, and it's heaven.”  
  
“I highly doubt that.”  
  
Sam almost laughed.  
  
“Ah, well...,” continued Dean, “Maybe we'll have to put you to that test... later, though.”  
  
Turning his attention back to his buried fingers, Dean realized that the little whore was actually _rocking_ back onto them. He lashed out quickly with his other hand, gripping a fistful of Sam's hair and bending his head back. Sam's spine arched so beautifully, it made Dean want to pick up his knife again...   
  
He hissed, “What the hell do you think you're doing,” into Sam's ear, twisting the hair within his fist, feeling the tension grow and grow. The desperate little  _ah_ s and choked off  _oh_ s he made in response were like candy on the back of Dean's tongue, making his mouth water. He pressed his fingers up and into Sam's prostate, grinning at the pitiful mewl of pleasure Sam made in response. Now was when it was going to get fun. Now, Dean would drag Sam just as far down with him as he could go.   
  
Dean pulled his fingers back enough to work a third next to them and pushed in again, letting go of Sam's hair so he could grip his hip instead. The additional finger made it much more difficult to keep going, his hole was just so tight.   
  
“Fuck, Sam,” moaned Dean, “When's the last time you took it?” When Sam didn't answer, Dean smacked his hip harsh enough to bruise. “Answer me when I ask you a question!”  
  
Sam swallowed reflexively, hanging his head between his shoulders. “I... I don't know,” he mumbled. “I haven't since...” He kept his eyes locked on the bloody bedspread between his hands.  
  
“Since you got back?” Dean asked, incredulously.  
  
Sam nodded and said nothing more. It seemed best to keep his speaking to a minimum, saying only what was necessary to keep Dean happy.   
  
Dean made a non-committal noise and continued pressing into Sam's hole, much to his discomfort. After several agonizing moments where the only conscious thought Sam had was  _won'tfit-won'tfit-won'tfit_ , Dean finally pulled his fingers away, cursing under his breath. The pop of the cap eased the tension in Sam's shoulders – lube was necessary. There was simply no way he could fit three without some sort of help.   
  
Dean was telling Cas about the necessity of lube and that it was needed to make sure things went smoothly (laughing at his own pun) for both parties. “But, this little cockslut here doesn't really need so much prep. I'm sure he'll be happy to take whatever I give him.”  
  
Sam was just beginning to wonder what Dean meant, when he felt a much greater pressure against his sore hole. It stung with just the contact alone.   
  
“Dean,” Sam pleaded softly, “No, you can't.”  
  
If Dean heard him, he didn't listen. Holding Sam's hip with a vice-like grip, he pushed his cock into him. Sam groaned, clenching his fists against the comforter and gritting his teeth against the sudden, agonizing pressure. It felt huge, bigger than himself, and there wasn't nearly enough lubrication. How could Dean even be enjoying this? There was no way.  
  
“Ohhh, fuck yes,” Dean sighed as the tip of his cock fit itself snug inside his brother's hole. He stayed like that, enjoying the tight contractions pressing in around the crown, hugging the head of his prick like a long lost lover. Fuck, Sam was  _tight_. Dean had to actually drip more lube onto his shaft, giving himself a few quick rubs, before pushing in impossibly further.   
  
Sam squirmed beneath him, wriggling and whimpering, trying to get away from the force of it all. He clawed at the bedspread, gasping desperately, and Dean could see the muscles in his back twitching with every extra inch Dean made him take. Letting go of himself and placing both hands firmly on Sam's hips, he gave a warning tug.   
  
Sam stopped squirming. He knew what that meant: sit still and this would be slow and gentle, otherwise... He gulped against the thought and focused on his breathing. He had to relax. He had to let go of the tension. It was only making this worse. He tried to breathe through his mouth, timing himself as he went.  _One, two, in... one, two, out... one... one, two... fuck_. His breaths caught in his throat, stuttering out with miserable noises as Dean pushed further, and further, and further into him.   
  
Finally,  _finally_ , he felt Dean bottom out, and Sam couldn't help the sigh of relief he let loose. His arms shook with the effort of keeping himself up, and he could feel the tremors running through his legs despite his best efforts to stop them. He hated that he was showing weakness, and more importantly, hated that Dean could tell he was wearing Sam down. He was breaking him.   
  
“D-Dean?” Sam asked, softly. His voice was ragged from his helpless cries and from the abuse both Dean and Castiel had inflicted. Half of his vocal ability was gone just due to the gunk that was building up in his throat.   
  
He felt Dean moving, leaning closer to him and putting his chest flush against Sam's back. Warm breath puffed against Sam's neck as Dean spoke. “Yes? Do you want me to stop? I don't think you do... I think you want me to keep going.”  
  
Sam stayed silent, unsure which was the right answer.   
  
“ _Well_?” Dean punctuated with a sharp thrust of his hips, making Sam rock forward, almost losing his stance on the mattress.   
  
Sam cried out at the jarring. It hurt; his hole not yet accustomed to the intrusion, and his arms stung sharply.   
  
Licking a long stripe up the side of Sam's neck, Dean softly said, “See, what I think, is that you want it. You want it hard and you want it fast and you want everything I give you.” Leaning back up, he smacked Sam smartly on the ass again. “Isn't that right, slut?”  
  
Yelping, Sam said, “Yes, sir!”  
  
Dean smirked, looking over at Castiel. “Wow,” Dean said, “I even got a 'sir' that time. Just for that...” He trailed off, not voicing the rest of the thought.   
  
Fitting his hands under Sam's arms, he tilted his brother's body back so that he was almost, but not quite, sitting in Dean's lap. A little twist here, a shift there, and Sam moaned like a whore.   
  
Dean's smirk widened. He glanced at Castiel, raising a cocky brow.   
  
“Prostate,” Castiel said with a nod of comprehension.   
  
Dean sighed, trying not to roll his eyes.  _Thank you, Captain Obvious_.   
  
With that, Dean started up a shallow rhythm. He was limited in his leverage, with Sam's hulking mass pressing down on him, but he managed to keep his dick rubbing tight against that spot and, glancing around his arm, he could see Sam's cock filling.   
  
“Like it, don't you?” He mumbled into the skin of Sam's back. “Fucking cockslut, dying to get fucked every which way, aren't you? No reason to hide it.”  
  
Sam groaned, shifting his knees wider and trying to gain his own leverage to push back. Dean felt the darkness in him writhe with contentment at that: Sam was gone. Sam was his. He could get Sam to do anything now. As Sam put his weight on his own knees, Dean was able to push up a little more. He fucked harder and faster into the soulless freak’s ass, pounding into that one perfect spot.   
  
He could see Sam starting to unravel. And why wouldn't he be losing it so quick, when they had been teasing him for an  _hour_  -- maybe more, he wasn't sure. Dean was, however, not quite ready for that to happen. He shifted, moving off that spot, and wanted to laugh at the whimper of pure want Sam made.   
  
“Okay, Sam,” he said lowly, “You want it so bad, you're gonna have to earn it.”   
  
He tilted back, putting his own weight on his elbows, and smiled at the sight of Sam's legs spread wide around his own hips, the way his cock was almost buried to the hilt in his brother's hole.  
  
Sam hesitated, hips still jerking arrhythmically against Dean's in an effort to get just a little more pressure against his prostate. He glanced over his shoulder, fixing his brother with a questioning gaze.   
  
Getting his hands up behind his back, Dean propped himself up. He shoved a little here and there, and managed to get his legs out straight, Sam's spread wide across him, and his feet tucked into the mattress. With the extra leverage, he could lean back on his elbows and hump up into his brother with little effort – which was good, because this was all Sam.  
  
“Turn around,” he commanded, voice low and gruff.   
  
Sam obliged, wincing at the tug against his hole as he maneuvered his way around.   
  
“Now... you want to get off, right?”  
  
Sam nodded, not meeting his gaze.   
  
Dean reached out and flicked his fingernail against the engorged head of Sam's cock, eliciting a paltry, halfhearted cry of pain. He smirked and leaned back on his elbows.   
  
“Then get off, Sam.”  
  
His brother looked up at him then, eyes wide. Dean nodded his chin to where their hips were joined, and he waited.   
  
When Sam wouldn't move, just staring at him like a damned idiot, Dean rocked up a bit. Sam's face melted, hips grinding down to meet Dean's as his prostate reminded him of how much he needed to get off. After that, it was all Dean could do not to get fucked clear through the mattress.   
  
Sam pushed his weight forward onto his knees, but kept his back arched, making sure to keep Dean's cock exactly where it was, pushing tight up against that glorious spot inside him. His own dick smacked against his abdomen obscenely, pre-come leaving slick, glistening streaks like some perverse Pollock painting.  
  
Dean watched as Sam reached down with one hand, mouth contorting in a grimace as the skin of his forearms stretched painfully, and gripped his cock.  
  
“You can hold it, Sam,” Dean said, “but don't even think of jacking it. You're getting off on my cock alone, you got that?”  
  
Sam made a noise that should have been a whine, but was too caught up in the pleasure of Dean's cock against that gland to really count as any sort of dissent.  
  
His brother's face was a myriad of bruised colors, but all one emotion: pleasure. His mouth formed a perfect pout, lips circling around a breathless 'oh'. His skin flushed deep red, starting from just above his taught nipples up through the cords of his neck and into the hollows of his cheeks. His hair, sweat-damp and tangled from all the action, swung in tandem to the rutting of his hips. And boy did he ever  _rut_. The boy fucking popped his mancunt against Dean's prick, grinding himself down against his brother like his life depended on it. Dean noticed the fingers of his hand, currently cupping his junk to keep it from bouncing everywhere, were pressing against the taught flesh of his balls... but he couldn't find it in himself to admonish him for it – the show more than made up for it.   
  
Castiel, sitting on his heels next to Dean, was silent but present, watching Sam with his head tilted ever so slightly.  _Curiouser and curiouser_ , the words bubbled up in Dean's head as he watched his friend's rapt attention focus in on the contraction of Sam's stomach, the way his breath hitched with each teasing thrust Dean thought to give, or the desperate, pleading sounds he made as he pressed down harder;  _come on_ , he moaned,  _come on, so... so close_...   
  
Sam's hips stuttered, breath catching, and Dean had the presence of thought to reach out and pull his hand away from his cock. Sam whimpered but kept his hands by his sides, fingers tightened in fists. Dean gripped both of Sam's thighs and, just as Sam’s eyes were squeezing tightly closed, Dean thrust up  _hard_.   
  
Thick ropes of spunk painted Sam's stomach and chest as he came. He sounded so wrecked, voice trembling as he cried out with the force of it. Christ, he was beautiful like this. Dean wished he could bottle the moment and relive it whenever he wanted.   
  
Panting, Sam slumped slightly, hands limp at his sides as he gasped breath after wanton breath. He couldn't seem to keep his voice from adding a desperate, pleading sound to each gasp. His body quivered, shaking through the last aftershocks of his orgasm. Reaching up, he used the back of his wrist (the least injured part) to push his bangs out of his face, and gazed down at Dean with something akin to resentment.  
  
Dean smiled maliciously up at his brother. “My turn,” he murmured before rolling violently, flipping their positions, and pounding into Sam harder than was really necessary.   
  
His brother barely had time to realize what was happening before he was on his back, hands clutching at the bedspread beneath him. His legs widened, though, to give Dean the room needed to get deeper. Fuck, but Dean loved how pliant the soulless freak was.  
  
A dark voice somewhere in the back of his mind started thinking maybe they should just leave Sam's soul downstairs for a while.   
  
Shame and guilt and self-hatred bubbled up at that thought, smothering the little voice deep inside Dean's mind, and he focused on his brother beneath him.  
  
He loved the bruises blooming on Sam's skin, hiding behind the blush of orgasm but still visible. He loved the way the cut on Sam's hip had started to clot, turning a deep brick color now, the tracks of blood having dried up and flaked in all the movement. He could tell Sam's arms were still bothering him though; the constant changing of positions and jerking motions were likely tugging at any scabs that were trying to form. Dean wanted to wrap Sam up in his arms and lick every single thick clot off his skin, chew his way through the torn flesh, and lap up every drop Sam's body spilled.  
  
But he did not do that.   
  
Instead, he focused on the tight, slick heat of his brother's fucked-out hole, and the way Sam's body still convulsed minutely with every brush against his oversensitive cock. Tipping his hips a little, Dean brushed against Sam's prostate relentlessly, losing himself in the anguished cries of his little brother. Sam was delirious with it, begging for Dean to stop, it was too much, too much... Dean let off a little, but made it a point to tease when Sam started to calm.   
  
Balls drawing up tight, Dean came inside his brother for the first time in far too long.   
  
Except, it wasn't really his brother.

After a moment to catch his breath, Dean smacked Sam harshly on the side of his hip – making sure to catch the edge of the cut – and said, “Get up. It's Cas' turn.” He smirked up at the angel and beckoned him closer.  
  
The younger Winchester grimaced as Dean's cock slid out of him, not looking forward to having to reposition himself again. As he turned over, he found the angel sitting up on his knees, Dean huddled close and stroking Castiel's cock. It was only mildly interested but Dean was persistent, and as Sam sat back to breathe, he watched Dean lean down to take the tip of Castiel's prick into his mouth, cheeks hollowing lasciviously as he sucked the semi-hard flesh further into his mouth. A soft blush spread up from Castiel's chest, further into his neck and face.   
  
 _How precious_ , Sam thought bitterly.   
  
Sam watched as Dean turned and worked his hand around the base of Castiel's cock, sucking harder and working him faster, fingers trailng their way down to his balls, giving a soft squeeze. Castiel had to place a hand on Dean's shoulder to brace himself, his eyes half closed in ecstasy.   
  
It was too hot, the ruined innocence of Castiel's expression, and Sam was surprised to find himself stiffening so soon. He reached down to stroke himself, the visual too enticing not to enjoy. It hurt though, moving his arms like that – the raw skin of his forearms stung as the muscle beneath it flexed. He hissed softly, then regretted it when Dean pulled away from Castiel with a lewd noise and looked over at him angrily.   
  
“Don't you fucking dare,” he growled. “Cas, make yourself comfy.” He sat up fully then, smacking Sam's hand away and delighting in the gut-wrenching wail Sam made as the ruined flesh of his arms was abused even further.   
  
Dean brought his hand up to his mouth, making sure to keep Sam's gaze, and pressed his tongue roughly against each blood-covered finger. He slipped his tongue between the digits, wrapping around each individual finger and cleaning away the gore. Sam's eyes were wide, fear making them bright.   
  
Oh, Dean loved that.   
  
His deepest, darkest desires squirmed with pleasure when he tasted Sam on his tongue, when he saw the effect he had on the soulless creature's poise, when he ripped helpless noises from his throat... Wouldn't he just love to literally  _rip_ them away.  
  
He contemplated the idea of it, envisioning the way the blood would trickle its way down Sam's long neck, working over the hills and valleys of the vertebrae, his Adam's apple, the tendons that would quiver in rapid response. He could almost hear the way Sam would gurgle as Dean dug his fingers around his throat, pulling and tearing and rending--   
  
“Dean...” Castiel's soft voice broke through his thoughts and Dean bore a moment of shame.   
  
The moment passed, however, when he gazed at the beaten man before him, the imposter in his brother's skin, sitting on his knees before an angel. Dean would make this freak of nature suffer. He would rip apart any semblance of confidence this thing had in itself. By the time Dean was through with it, this thing with Sam's face would consider broken bones a joyful experience.   
  
He crawled up behind his brother's body, slotting his half-hard cock in the crease of his ass. He felt Sam tense, waiting for the pain. Dean indulged for a moment, rutting up against the malleable muscle of his brother's ass, enjoying the way Sam almost whimpered with the movements: like hiccups getting stuck at the back of his throat.   
  
“Let's see it, Sam. Wanna see you work that cock like it's a mother fucking stripper pole,” Dean hissed lowly into Sam's ear, smacking his ass harder than necessary.   
  
Sam groaned, but nodded, knowing better than to resist. The cut in his hip throbbed in beat with his pulse, a steady pumping of hurt. It didn't help that Dean kept smacking it, breaking the wound open anew.   
  
He straddled Castiel's legs, fingers tracing over his cock. Castiel had formed a subtle pout between his brows, watching Sam intently. The gaze was curious, a bit timid, and, hidden in the very darkest part of those blue eyes, needful. Castiel wanted this just as much as Dean and Sam did. The lustful need staring back at him made Sam's cock twitch.  
  
It hurt, stroking Castiel's cock, but he did it anyway.  
  
“Uhm... Dean?” Sam asked falteringly.   
  
“What?”  
  
“It's-- it's really dry...”  
  
A deep sigh behind him, then a shift in the mattress' shape and a tacky bottle was shoved into his hand. He whimpered, frustrated with how Dean made a point to drag his nails over the raw skin just because he could. Popping the cap of the bottle, though, Sam worked the lube over Castiel's dick, smiling at the way the angel canted his hips upward a bit, seeking out Sam's touch.   
  
“Finger-fuck yourself, Sam,” Dean demanded.  
  
Looking over his shoulder, Sam saw his brother lying on his side across the mattress, lazily stroking his cock as he watched the other two men. Sam's mouth watered at the sight, seeing Dean laid out like that, prick held gently in his fingertips, just waiting...   
  
Pouring more of the liquid onto his fingers, Sam tossed the bottle to the side and reached behind himself. He made sure to bend, spreading his legs wider, to give Dean a view as he slid first one, then two fingers into himself. The lube made the raw flesh of his hole sting, burning from irritation more than stretching, as his fingers slipped further and further into himself. He  _was_ tight, Sam realized. He hadn't thought much about it – never had reason to – but he understood now why it had hurt so much for Dean to have been so forceful.   
  
“One more, Sammy...” Dean said, voice rough. His fingers had wrapped tighter around his dick, pumping a steady motion from base to tip.   
  
Sam obliged, sliding one more slick finger into himself. He bit his lip, wincing at the burn and tug as his body stretched to accommodate the addition. Fuck, Cas was gonna hurt like a bitch.   
  
Dean sighed. “Okay. Enough foreplay. Get on with it, Sam.” He grinned, leaning forward a bit on his elbow. “You were moaning like a whore earlier... where's all that enthusiasm now? I thought you wanted Cas' dick up your hole?”  
  
Dean watched as his brother shuddered, whether from fear or pain or maybe pleasure, he couldn't be sure, but even Sam's  _eyes_ closed with the movement. Glancing down, he could see Sam's cock give a little jerk of interest.   
  
Dean growled. “I want to see you fucking  _bounce_.”  
  
Another shudder of lust ran up Sam's spine – fuck, but he loved the way Dean talked to him like this: mean and dirty and sinful. The throaty texture of his voice alone could make Sam's cock pulse with want.   
  
He straightened up, positioning himself above Castiel's hips and gripping the man's cock to line it up with his slick hole. Castiel's hands came to rest on Sam's knees and it was almost endearing the way he couldn't figure out what to look at: Sam's hand on his prick, Dean stroking his own, or the way every muscle in Sam's body jumped with tension as he lowered himself onto Castiel.   
  
“O-ohhh,” sighed Castiel, another bright flush filling his cheeks when he realized he was being vocal.  
  
Sam grinned lazily at him, slowly rocking his hips down, further and further, until he was sitting on Castiel's lap. He took a moment, just one, to breathe, grow accustomed to it – Dean was a well-endowed guy, no denying that, but Castiel was thicker, and would take some getting used to.   
  
When Sam shifted his hips back and forth, sliding along Castiel's cock slow and shallow, the look of pure awe on Castiel's face made Sam want to kiss him. He was amazed Castiel hadn't blown his load already, what with the expressions he was making.   
  
Sam could hear Dean behind him, though, getting fidgety; so, he shifted his weight forward, working his feet underneath him, and started doing just what Dean had told him to – he fucking bounced. His hole burned with the stretch of Castiel's thick cock, and, no matter which way he angled his hips, Sam couldn't quite manage to get to that  _spot_. He groaned, frustrated, but kept going.   
  
That is, until he felt the mattress tilt and then Dean's warmth behind him.   
  
“Bend over, Sammy,” he said soft into Sam's ear.   
  
Reaching past his brother, Dean grabbed up the bottle of lube and squeezed a very liberal amount into his palm, slicking up the fingers of his other hand. He wasn't sure if what he had planned would work, but it was too devious an idea to pass up...   
  
Sam followed direction well, and slid his body down so he was on his knees. His legs were splayed out further than they had been all night –  _fucking cunt_ wants  _it_ – and Dean could see the way his hole was stretched around Castiel's cock. Every time Sam lowered himself back onto it, his thighs quivered with the strain.   
  
Dean smiled sickeningly at what he was about to do, slick fingers pressing against Sam's hole. Giving Castiel a wink over Sam's shoulder, he wedged one finger in alongside Castiel's cock.   
  
“Dean!” Sam shouted, groaning and trying to pull away.   
  
Pressing his mouth against the side of Sam's throat, teeth tracing over the taut skin, Dean growled, “You stay put, you filthy piece of shit.”   
  
Sam cried when Dean worked his finger in circles, couldn't help the tears that the pulling and stretching brought to his eyes. Sam's body was being pushed to the limit... and then beyond.   
  
“Dean, I can't... I can't,” Sam panted, shaking his head.  
  
“You can,” said Dean, “And you will. Simple as that. Now, lean back a bit.” As Sam angled his body back, center of gravity shifting his weight down, Dean forced a second finger in next to his first.   
  
Sam couldn't get breath. The pain encompassed every inch of his conscious thought. He had no room in his brain to think of such things as breathing. The worst part was the dread, the  _knowing_ of what was to come – Sam had figured out the punchline already and could only sit back and wait for it.   
  
After a great deal of time spent with Dean's fingers sliding and prodding and pushing and pulling at Sam's abused hole, the tightness eased. Dean had withdrawn his hand, and Sam took a deep breath, sighing as the pain lessened. He wondered vaguely about how pathetic it was that his relief was now measured not by how much better he felt, but by how much less pain he experienced. It was a subtle difference, but a bleak one.  
  
Sam had a vague notion to start fucking Castiel again, but stopped when he felt Dean's lube-slick hand on his hip and...  
  
“No,” Sam whined, fear curling in his gut. There was no way,  _no way_. “No. Dean. Please don't do this. It's  _me_! Your little broth— _Oh, god_.”  
  
There weren't words for the kind of pain Sam felt.   
  
Dean had worked his cock a bit, urging it into as stiff a form as he could manage. Slicking it up as much as he could, using damn near all the rest of the bottle they had left, he had fitted himself between his brother's and Castiel's legs and pressed the head of his cock in snug against Castiel's.   
  
It was gloriously, unbelievably tight, and the thick press of Castiel's cock flush against his own was maddening. He couldn't fit much more beyond the first few inches of his cock into Sam's hole, but Christ it was enough. Dean could have taken care of the rest with his hand for all he cared.   
  
Best yet was the way Castiel's head arched back against the pillows, lip caught tight between his teeth. He must have enjoyed the feel of Dean's cock against his own, too.   
  
Sam was keening like a gutted dog, whimpering and moaning and begging for Dean to _stop, please, god, you can't_ , but Dean wasn't listening anymore. He was much too fixated with looking down, thumbs pressing the flesh of Sam's ass apart, so that he could see the way his hole was stretched  _wide, so wide_ around both his cock and Castiel's. Christ, it was... he'd never done this before in his life and now he wasn't sure he could live without doing it again.   
  
He pulled his hips back a bit – shivering at the way Sam tried to muffle his sobs – and sunk himself deeper still, the ridge of his cock rubbing tight against Castiel's own flesh. Both men groaned with the sensation. Even having come twice already, there was no way Dean was going to last like this. The pressure wrapped snug around his cock was just too enticing.   
  
Dean stilled his hips when he managed to get half his cock firmly inside Sam. Reaching down, he tugged at Castiel's ankles.   
  
“Come on, Cas,” he said softly, “Like this.”   
  
He guided Castiel's feet so they were flat against the mattress – Sam choked as it forced him to actually press back against Dean's cock – and showed the angel how to get the right kind of leverage.  
  
Placing his hands on Sam's hips, Dean leaned forward to whisper into Sam's ear. “You stay still, now.”   
  
Sam could only shudder in reply, trying so hard to keep himself together. It just hurt so much, he couldn't find enough wit to think  _beyond_ it – the stretch, the burn, the pins and needles that traveled everywhere, even up to his hair follicles.   
  
“Go for it, Cas.”  
  
Sam felt him hesitate at first, but then the angel got his hands wrapped around his bruised torso and... and he just went for it.   
  
The pain was so crushing that Sam felt nearly sick with it, his throat tightening with the impending threat of throwing up. He stifled it as best he could, but it was damned difficult with the feeling of Castiel's cock driving up and in, caught so tight it was a wonder there was room for it to move.   
  
Sam could feel every thick inch of Castiel's cock as it slid up and in, down and out. He could feel the way Dean's own cock was pushed in and out with Castiel's movements; Dean jutted his hips this way and that way just enough that his cock never really came free, though, despite Sam's body trying everything in its power to get it  _out-out-out_.   
  
He didn't even care if he was crying at this point, it hurt so badly. He almost wished Dean had just decided to cut him up, rip him to pieces, break his bones and make his heart beat its last pulse. This... this was inhumane. This was torture in its worst form.   
  
Castiel's pale skin was flushed pink, glistening in the dinky light of the motel room. The soft blush of arousal, the wanton slack of his lips, the desperate way his brow creased;  _virgin_ , it all said. Through the haze of pain and disbelief and suffering, Sam felt vaguely proud that he was the one offering this to the angel. It seemed wrong, though, to pop a cherry by using someone else's blood.   
  
They were all covered in a thick sheen of sweat – Sam being covered in far more than just that. The dim haze of the overhead lamp made the skin of Sam’s back gleam, old scars shining through. Dean watched as Sam's face twisted with the pain of being so full. The sharp features of his face already marred so wonderfully by his earlier beating, now brought into stark relief as pain mangled and gnarled them into one grimace after another.   
  
Sam grit his teeth, gasping and biting down against the tug of their cocks in his abused hole. There were visible tracks lining Sam's cheeks now, shimmering in the dull light, and the skin of Sam's thighs was tacky with drying blood and lubrication.   
  
He broke so beautifully. Dean wanted to soak up this moment as much as he could, but it was getting difficult to stave off his orgasm, what with the hapless noises Sam was making and the half-concealed sniffles.  
  
Castiel let loose a desperate whimper, nails digging into the skin of Sam's ribs, and the sound was punctuated with a sob from the younger Winchester. Dean felt his cock twitch at the noises, his own moan joining them as he bent forward and pressed his brow between Sam's shoulder blades. His hips gave a harsh jerk, forcing his cock deeper into his brother, and Sam just  _whined_.   
  
With a few telling gasps, Castiel's hips bucked up, stuttering their movements as he came. Dean moaned deeply, cursing under his breath as he felt the heated slick wrapping around his own cock.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck._  
  
Watching Castiel's expression over Sam's shoulder – body tense, mouth open and desperate, eyes squeezed tight – almost had Dean coming undone, too. He held it off, though, reaching a hand around Sam's hip and taking hold of his flaccid prick.   
  
When he had set out to break this soulless piece of filth, he had meant to  _break_ it.   
  
Sam whimpered as Dean took hold of him, coughing with how ragged his throat felt around the noise. His gag reflex kept wanting to trip every time he moaned or cried or begged, but he kept swallowing it back, forcing himself to just  _survive_. Dean had done just about every depraved thing Sam could think of – he had to be slowing down now, it had to be coming to an end, didn't it?  
  
“Dean, please,” he whispered, mentally cringing at how wrecked he sounded. “Don't... just... just finish up, please?”  
  
“What did I say about begging?” Dean growled against the skin of Sam's back, hips rutting so his cock kept slick-sliding back and forth only mere millimeters (but it felt like so much more than that to Sam). “You don't get the right to beg for anything, you freak.”   
  
Castiel sighed, the last of his orgasm spilling into Sam. His fingers lost their grip on Sam's sides, hands falling limply against the ruined comforter. He shook his head, pressing his palm to his face.   
  
“That good, huh, Cas?” Dean asked.   
  
Castiel, blushing furiously at such innuendo, could only nod behind his hand.   
  
“Alright,” Dean said lowly, wrapping his free arm around Sam's waist and tugging him back, working Sam's plaint body so that he was angled more into a seated fashion, but so that Castiel and Dean were still both inside him for the time being. “Time to really get going.”   
  
Dean bit into the thick flesh of Sam's shoulder just as his hips ground up, pumping his cock in and out without mercy, fucking hard into his brother's ruined hole. Sam cried out, gasping audibly and choking on his own groans. The best, though, was when Dean managed to graze his prostate again -- just barely, but enough to make his brother yelp in surprise. Sam's hips canted back just a bit, searching out the stimulus again.   
  
The position didn't lend itself very well to it, though, and Dean was only able to nudge at the spot, but his hand worked over Sam's cock endlessly. He knew all the right twists and turns, the way Sam would harden from a tight squeeze at the base, and shudder at the flat of Dean's palm across the head of his prick. He knew the way to flick his wrist just so, making Sam moan and sob all at once.   
  
It took time -- time in which Castiel's cock finally slipped out of Sam's hole, blood-tinted fluids leaking thickly out between their bodies – but Dean had Sam hard and rocking back into his thrusts, begging again, begging to come, for Dean to come, for it to just be over.   
  
“Please, Dean,” Sam panted, body tensing as he humped forward into the hold of his brother's hand, and then backward, impaling himself on his brother's cock. “Please...”  
  
“Please, what, Sam?” Dean murmured low against his ear, delighting in the shudder and gooseflesh it caused.   
  
He caught Castiel's gaze as he looked down, over Sam's shoulder. The angel was sprawled out beneath Sam, arms tucked behind his head, lazily spectating. His pale skin was still flushed with afterglow, and his eyes were heavy. Dean was vaguely aware of Castiel's half-hard cock nudging against Dean's thigh as he fucked into his brother, but Castiel didn't seem remotely interested in trying again, more in analyzing what Dean was doing now.  
  
Dean continued to breathe taunts across Sam's neck, nipping at the taught flesh. “Want me to fuck you? Want me to fill you up, just like Cas did? Fucking cockslut, love getting it, don't you?” He groaned, giving a slow, deliberate thrust, jutting his hips up hard in an attempt to press against Sam's prostate. His brother yelped in response but nodded his assent to what Dean said.   
  
“Yeah,” said Dean, tightening his hold on Sam's cock in an effort to get him off quick. He could feel his own orgasm building, the needful pleasure/pain of it biting into his nerves. “Yeah, I bet you do. Haven't been given a real cock in way too long, Sammy.”   
  
Sam's voice wavered as he cried out with each rock of Dean's hips, his hands reaching out to brace against the headboard of the bed, nails scratching against the old finish.   
  
“Come on, show me how much you want it,” said Dean, twisting his hand on the upstroke. Letting go momentarily, he reached between them and slicked his hand with the spilled come from Sam's ass, then resumed his movements. The extra wetness made his hand slide easily over Sam's heated flesh. “Show Cas here just how much you loved having both of us up your ass, pulling that tight little hole wide open. You won't be sitting right for  _weeks_ , you filthy fucking--” He slid his slick palm over the head of Sam's dick and had him coming hard.   
  
Spunk landed in thick ribbons across Castiel's chest, catching the angel off-guard. Castiel's eyes were wide as he watched in rapt wonder at the way Sam whimpered and sobbed, gasping and tensing. His hips jerked with each shot of come, thighs quivering with the strain of staying upright.   
  
The tight heat surrounding Dean's cock was incomparable. It seemed impossible for it to still feel that tight, when they had both been fucking Sam senseless all night; but when Sam came, it just gripped his cock and  _squeezed_ , practically wringing his orgasm out of him. It hit so hard, he shouted in surprise, nails digging into Sam's hips hard enough to lacerate the already bruised flesh.   
  
Sam felt tears work their way free again as Dean came in him. The afterglow of his own orgasm faded to the background as stinging pain blossomed along his ass, reaching deep, deep inside him. The flesh down there was just too raw, too fucked open and ripped up to handle anything against it. Dean's seed felt like napalm working its way up inside him. The little pinpricks of Dean's nails on his hips didn't even register.   
  
Stillness fell over them, hushed breaths panting into the recycled air of the motel room. Sam's skin crawled along his back where he could feel Dean gasping against him. Looking down, he watched Castiel's fingers play with the drying remnants of Sam's come on his stomach, swirling the stuff around, bringing it up to his lips to taste. Sam groaned at the visual.   
  
Another weak cry fell from Sam's lips as Dean pulled himself out. His body ached from the sudden  _lack_ of being filled. Who would have thought a few minutes ago he would have given anything to be empty, and now it hurt to be without.   
  
Sam wasn't bothering to watch his surroundings. Fucked-out and lost in the aches of his body, he was barely aware of Castiel scooting out from underneath him, or the way the mattress dipped as Dean stood up from it. He collapsed in a heap, curling on the side of his body that hadn't been cut by Dean's knife. He couldn't help the sobs that wracked his chest, wrenching out gasp after gasp. God, everything just  _hurt_ so much. He half wondered if he should go to the hospital – Dean had done so much damage already.   
  
Opening his eyes just enough to look across the mattress, he watched Dean watching him. Their eyes never met, though – Dean was busy surveying Sam's body, taking in all the bruises, the cuts and lacerations, the blood and spunk that had caked across his thighs, the mess of mottled flesh in his face. The expression on Dean's face was different than it had been all night, more focused and scrutinizing; like an artist surveying his own canvas. Sam hoped Dean found it sufficient, he didn't think he could withstand anything more.    
  
Castiel pressed his hand to Dean's shoulder, gazing up at him cautiously. He had cleaned Sam's come from him, and had his pants on now. Dean looked down at his friend, nodding silently. Giving Sam one last glance, catching his eye this time – and Sam was shocked to find himself wishing he could take away the pain in that gaze – Dean turned away to find his own clothes.   
  
“Cas, clean him up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Major, major kudos to jaysawyer for being so awesome as to beta while they were sick! You, darling, get all the cupcakes in the world. And many thanks to my meimei who was there from the start of this fic. Also - extra kudos to all of those wonderful friends of mine who have been there and watched me angst over this fic, and post little tidbits for your amusement. Thank you, guys; this would not have happened if it wasn't for all of your loving encouragement.


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